Текст книги "Rock Addiction"
Автор книги: Nalini Singh
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
Her hope for Charlotte flickering under the sudden cold front of her friend’s words, Molly drew Charlotte to a bench in the nearby square, the falling water of the fountain quiet music in the background. “T-Rex?” Receiving a nod, she put her hand over Charlotte’s. “Are you afraid to be around him?” If her instincts had led her in the wrong direction and this guy was—
“No,” Charlotte said before Molly’s mind could continue along that disturbing path. “No, not like that.” She checked her watch. “We better go—we’ll be late getting back to work.”
“I’ll make up the time.” This conversation was too important to abandon. “And since T-Rex didn’t let you leave till ten last night, I’m sure he can’t argue against a long lunch today.”
“Yes, he can.” It was a grumpy response.
“Do I need to storm the battlements and steal you away from his clutches?”
“Ha-ha.” Charlotte bit down on her lower lip before blurting out, “He scares me because of the way he makes me react. Sometimes I want to grab that tie of his and—”
“Do the kind of things I’ve been doing with my rock star?”
Charlotte’s blush was adorable. “Only in my more insane moments.” She pushed up her glasses in a quick, nervous movement. “Have you seen how big he is?”
“Sexy big.” All wide shoulders and heavy muscle, though he had nothing on Fox as far as Molly was concerned. “Also, you shouldn’t expect rational advice from me—I brought a man home after meeting him in an elevator.”
Charlotte’s shoulders shook, eyes gleaming. “Now you’re about to head off with him for a dirty, dirty weekend.”
Molly dropped her head in her hands. “What am I doing, Charlie?”
“I told you,” her friend said softly, “being the brave one.” She jumped as her cell phone rang. “It’s His Carnivorousness,” she muttered after glancing at the caller display, then answered in a professional tone. “Hello, Charlotte speaking.”
A pause, Molly watching in interest as Charlotte’s eyes sparked fire.
“Yes, I realize that,” her best friend said, still in that polite tone. “However, I did work well beyond my contracted hours yesterday.”
Another pause. Charlie’s teeth gritted as her fingers clenched on the phone. “Yes, I am,” she said in response to whatever she’d heard. “In fact, we’re about to check into a hotel.”
Molly squeaked, slapped a hand over her mouth. “Did you just tell your boss you were about to check into a hotel with Ernest?” she asked when Charlotte stabbed the End key.
Charlotte’s eyes went huge. “Oh God!” she wailed, as if only now realizing what she’d done. “I told you he was driving me insane.”
Molly nudged Charlotte’s head between her knees when her friend began to hyperventilate. “Breathe, Charlie.”
It took several minutes, Charlotte’s face bright red even after she’d sat up for another couple of minutes. “I can’t go back to the office now. I’ll have to quit.”
“No, you don’t.” Delighted that dealing with T-Rex was forcing Charlotte out of hiding, Molly dragged her to her feet and walked her to her office. Charlotte’s breathing was choppy again by the time she stepped through the automatic doors.
“Be brave,” Molly mouthed when her friend paused in the open doorway and looked over her shoulder.
A shaky smile, then Charlotte squared her shoulders and mouthed the same thing back at her. Be brave.
Chapter 15
Having taken two days off work, Molly stepped out of the Arrivals gate at Sydney Airport early afternoon the next day to find a driver waiting for her. He held a sign that said only SC Crew. Already in her roadie disguise, complete with jeans, cap, and a long-sleeved, checked shirt, she followed him to the car and got in. No one seemed to pay her any special attention—either at the airport, or when she checked into the hotel—though according to Fox, she had the room that directly connected with his.
His room wasn’t booked under his name, of course, but that of another roadie. The other man was having a luxurious time up on the penthouse floor with the other members of the band while Fox and Molly had the invaluable gift of privacy.
As she walked into her room, having brought up her own luggage—a single wheeled suitcase—she couldn’t help but think how smooth the whole operation had been to this point. That, of course, led her mind to wonder how many times Fox had done this type of thing before and with how many different women. She’d grown up with a man who juggled women like multicolored balls, knew how—
“Stop, Molly!” She cut off the hurtful train of thought the instant she realized where she was headed, annoyed with herself for doing her best to ruin the weekend before it began.
Fox wasn’t her father.
In fact, the two men didn’t even belong to the same species. Her father had been a particular kind of slime, and it wasn’t the fifteen-year-old girl he’d been discovered with who’d been his first victim. Thea’s mother, Lily, had been an innocent and trusting nineteen-year-old when he’d seduced her after convincing her that his marriage was about to end, only to arrange for her deportation when she fell pregnant.
Linking Fox to Patrick in any way was an insult to Fox.
With that mental reminder, she dumped her luggage on the stand in the corner, then pushed aside the curtains to expose an incredible view of Darling Harbour. The water glittered under the bright sunlight, the restaurants and cafés around it busy with locals and tourists both, while yellow water taxis bobbed at the nearest edge.
“This is the life,” she murmured, shaking her head.
What in the world was she doing here?
A glance at the connecting door gave her the answer. Beyond it lay the room and the bed of a man who’d become her addiction. He made her come alive in ways she’d never believed she could, had taught her she had the capacity to feel with a wild passion she hadn’t thought existed inside her. What would she do when he left?
The stab of pain in her gut was answer enough.
Walking over to the connecting door before the promise of future agony could paralyze her, she undid the lock on her side and tried the handle. It turned easily and while the room beyond was empty, she knew without a doubt it was Fox’s. His aftershave lingered in the air, one of his T-shirts was thrown across the bed, and a blue-green guitar pick lay on the bedside table. It was the one he’d used when he’d come to her house, the one that was his second favorite.
Smiling, she picked it up from the pile of papers on the bedside table. Blank sheet music, she noted absently, then realized not all the pages were blank. The one partially sticking out at the bottom had notations made in the light blue ink of the hotel pen that had rolled to lie against the lampstand.
She touched her fingers to the notes, feeling as if she’d glimpsed a secret. She’d known Fox had written a number of Schoolboy Choir’s songs, the majority in concert with David, but she hadn’t realized he had formal musical training. It simply made him more fascinating, made her wonder how many more facets of him she hadn’t glimpsed… would never get the chance to know.
She only had him for three more weeks, a blink in a lifetime.
Breathing past the melancholy thought, she tidied up the pages, then walked back into her own room, leaving the door open. Since the flight had only been a quick three hours, she wasn’t tired, and the idea of sitting in her hotel room didn’t appeal. She was considering heading down to grab a coffee at one of the harborside cafés when there was a brisk knock on the door.
Opening it, she found herself facing not a member of the hotel staff but a bearded man dressed in a Schoolboy Choir T-shirt, the black fabric stretched over a significant beer gut and tucked into faded blue jeans. On his head was a battered New York Yankees cap, and around his neck hung a nametag that identified him as part of the band’s crew.
“You Molly?” He grunted, then looked down at his clipboard. “Yep, you’re her.” With that, he thrust a lanyard and attached nametag at her. “Make sure you don’t lose that. It’s your passport backstage—without it, security will throw you out.”
Molly placed the lanyard around her neck, the photo on it a shot Fox had taken with his phone one night after dinner. “Got it.” She turned and grabbed the small backpack she’d carried on the plane.
Grunting again, the man scratched at the salt and pepper of his beard, then nodded at her to follow him. “So, you actually know any shit or are you just here to fuck Fox?”
His tone was so matter-of-fact that Molly answered before embarrassment could steal her tongue. “Fox must trust you a lot.”
A narrow-eyed look. “Hmm. Brains.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Maxwell. Don’t call me Max.”
“Nice to meet you, Maxwell. Are you the roadie in chief?”
“Roadie in chief?” He let out a deep laugh, slapping his beer belly. “Yeah, that’s me. I think I’m gonna put that on my business cards. Maxwell, Roadie in Chief.”
Laughing along with him, his amusement good-natured rather that mocking, she said, “Where are we going?”
“Out to where the band’s performing tomorrow night.” He stuck his pencil behind his ear, scowled again. “Never done anything this big this fast before, but it’s sick babies. Whattaya gonna do?”
“You flew down for this?” Molly had expected the band to just turn up on a temporary stage with borrowed equipment… but of course not. They had a reputation for the caliber of their concerts, would certainly not shortchange the charity or their fans by putting on a mediocre show.
“Boys flew our whole team down,” Maxwell told her. “Impossible to set up a show this big with a new crew, even with things stripped down to the basics.” Adjusting his cap, he led her out through a side entrance that exited into an open-air parking lot. “Today’s all about fine-tuning things, making sure the setup will work with the boys when they get going.”
Molly paused when Maxwell slid open the back door of a van and placed his clipboard on top of what looked like electronic equipment. “You know,” she said after he slid the door shut, hoping he wouldn’t take offense, “I don’t really know you and you want me to get in a black van with tinted windows.”
Booming laughter. “Yep. Brains.” Pulling out his phone with that pleased statement, he brought up the band’s website and took her to the Photos section. “Here.”
There was Maxwell with his arm around a sweaty post-concert Fox. Underneath were the words: Fox and Man-In-Charge-of-Everything, Maxwell, after the Chicago show.
“Convinced I don’t plan to drive you into the outback and feed you to the kangaroos?” Maxwell asked, a twinkle in his pale blue eyes.
Grinning, she said, “Can I look at the other photos?”
“Sure.” He handed her the phone. “If it rings, answer it for me—and by the way, you’re meant to be the roadie version of an intern, so nobody’s going to expect you to know much anyway.”
Molly waited until she’d belted herself in and Maxwell was pulling out before saying, “That’s clever.” She thought she’d kept her voice light and nonconfrontational, but Maxwell shot her a sideways look.
“Yeah, Fox’s clever.” A short pause. “Hasn’t ever used that brain of his to get a woman backstage incognito before though. Never snuck around with any woman, as a matter of fact. Always liked that about him—he doesn’t mess with women who aren’t free to play.”
Molly wanted to squirm and avoid the issue, but the fact was, she was the one who’d put Fox in this position with someone who was clearly important enough to him that he’d trusted the other man with the truth, and she had to own up to it. “I’m free,” she said quietly. “I just don’t want to be famous.”
Maxwell nodded. “Fair enough. Can’t escape being famous if you’re with Fox, though, so you better get used to the idea soon.”
Molly didn’t say anything to that—it was obvious Maxwell thought this was a long-term relationship given the effort Fox had gone to for her. Her fingernails dug into her palms, the idea of having Fox as her own a powerfully seductive one. It didn’t matter that she knew the relationship would never last in the hothouse atmosphere of a rock star’s life; this was her fantasy… at least for a short while longer.
It made her stomach hurt to imagine opening a magazine one day in the future and seeing him in the arms of another woman. A woman who would be right for him because she could survive in the environment in which he thrived, the roar of the crowds and the glare of the lights electricity in his blood.
Staring out the window until she could breathe again, she finished going through the photos on the band’s website. They told a story—of friendship, camaraderie, music, and parties. So many parties. So many beautiful women. All of them in skimpy clothes worn over taut, toned bodies, bodies that were usually draped over one member of the band or another.
Including Fox.
She closed the browser and put the phone in the cup holder. The photos hadn’t shown her anything she hadn’t already known—the fantasy was wonderful, but the harsh reality was that their lives and worlds were poles apart, would never again intersect after this month was over. Again, that stabbing in her abdomen, sharp and brutal, her throat thick.
“Here we go.” Maxwell drove through metal security gates after waving at the guards, and into what appeared to be a massive playing field or park with an unexpectedly solid-appearing temporary stage set up on one end.
Hopping out once they’d parked, Molly put on her fake glasses and helped Maxwell carry some of his more delicate equipment to the electronic nerve center of the concert, all of the audio and lights controlled by technology Molly had as much hope of understanding as she had of flying a fighter jet. That was when she saw Fox—he was on the stage with one of his bandmates. The blond one.
Noah.
The other man had recently been featured in a magazine article about the world’s most beautiful people, but it was to Fox alone that her eyes were drawn. Even dressed in one of his ubiquitous black T-shirts and a pair of old jeans, he exuded strength and a lazy sexuality as he and Noah apparently tested the sound system using electric guitars. She’d known he played one but had never had the chance to watch him perform live, was fascinated by how he held and moved with the instrument.
The guitar was gleaming red, of course.
Her lips curved.
“Don’t watch him like that if you want this to work.”
Coloring at Maxwell’s low-voiced warning, Molly turned away… just as Fox glanced at her. Her body responded to the touch of that smoky-green gaze as it always did, but aware of how many other people moved around them, she pinned her eyes to Maxwell’s back and became his shadow for the rest of the afternoon. While it was difficult to keep her attention off the man for whom she’d come here, she didn’t have to feign interest in the work it took to set up a big show—even a “stripped down” one.
There was the big stuff like setting up the stage and any pyrotechnics, but all that had been done already. Today, it was about going over the myriad tiny details, from making dead sure each of the speakers around the grounds was functioning as it should, to checking the individual lamps in the light system, to ensuring catering staff knew what to bring in for band and crew both, to confirming that there was a fridge backstage for the water and sports drinks.
Maxwell had every one of those thousand-and-one things on a mental checklist and he used Molly like she was a real intern.
Dropping her bag to the floor when she returned to the hotel room, Molly took off the black-framed glasses she’d worn for the past hours and flopped down on her back in bed. “I hope you pay Maxwell what he’s worth,” she said to the half-naked man who’d come to lean in the doorway between their rooms.
“Why do you think he’s still with us?” Prowling over, Fox straddled her supine body, the top button on his jeans undone to reveal a hint of dark hair.
Oh, but he was beautiful.
With that mental sigh, she placed her hands on his abdomen and shivered at the flex of all that gorgeous muscle as he leaned down to nibble at her lips.
“Sorry I left you to Maxwell’s devices.” Whiskey and hard rock, his voice had her nipples beading against the cotton of her bra, the heat of his body another kiss.
“It’s part of my cover.” Her breath caught at the sensation of his mouth on her throat. “I could hardly leave with the band when I’m meant to be learning the ropes.”
“Are you telling me you’re too tired?” Raising his head from her throat, he settled his lower body more heavily against her.
“I,” she somehow managed to say, her breasts swelling and lower body clenching, “am telling you I need a bath and a massage.”
A deeper smile, the dimple lean against his cheek. “Since they both involve your naked body”—words punctuated by kisses that made her smile even as they made her want—“I’m willing to make the arrangements.” Petting her breasts with bold possessiveness, he pushed off her and the bed. “Stay there.”
Since he’d turned her limbs to jelly, Molly had no trouble obeying. She heard him turn on the water and then he walked back into the room. “Let’s get you naked while the bath’s filling.”
“You know,” she said, teeth sinking into her lower lip and her mind blaring a warning she ignored, “we spend a lot of our time together naked.”
Fox’s expression was pure sin as he tugged off her sneakers and socks. “Are you complaining?”
“I’m not insane.” Being naked with Fox was the experience of a lifetime, but part of her wished they could do things like the market more often, like any ordinary couple. Her chest ached at the idea of it.
She knew it was her fault that they couldn’t. Fox hadn’t ever wanted to treat her like a dirty little secret. She was the one who’d made that choice, decided to hide what was becoming a relationship she knew she’d never forget, even if she lived to be a hundred years old.
One month. Don’t let the pain to come steal your one glorious month with him.
Swallowing her tears, she held out her hand to the rock star who kept slicing away pieces of her heart.
Chapter 16
Fox slid into the bath behind Molly, luxuriating in having her here. He knew it was a big step for the woman whose smile had captivated him and whose heart, intelligence, and honest, generous sensuality now held him prisoner. He intended to do everything in his power to make her see his life through a less aggressive and less terrifying lens. Being a roadie wasn’t the same as being his, but it provided a gentle, easy introduction to his world—because he wanted, needed her with him, and he’d do whatever it took to convince her to take a chance on him.
The hard stuff… yeah, that could wait until she’d committed to him.
Turning her face, she kissed his jaw. “I missed you last night.”
He’d missed her, too, hating the cold loneliness of the hotel bed. Now, cupping the heavy warmth of her breasts from behind, he took her mouth in ravenous demand, soothing the ragged edges of his need enough that he could take this slow. “How was dinner with Thea and Charlotte?” Meeting her best friend was on his agenda—Charlotte was clearly important to Molly, and so the other woman was important to Fox.
“I made a Thai mango-chicken salad. It was a success.” She softened against him as he moved his hands from her breasts to massage her shoulders and arms, aware how hard Maxwell could work his people.
Molly sighed and closed her eyes, the quiet expression of trust his undoing. “Can I just stay here?”
Grabbing the loofah she’d fished out of her toiletries case, he squeezed some liquid soap onto it. “No,” he said, smoothing the puffy, girly thing over her body for the simple pleasure of touching her. “I fucking hate cold water.”
Her laugh was startled, her eyes sparkling when she looked up. As she sassed him about being a tough-guy rocker, he thought of the wistfulness he’d sensed in her when she’d spoken of the amount of time they spent in bed and promised himself they’d do something silly and touristy and fun together in Sydney.
He wanted to take his Molly on a date.
Molly slept in Fox’s arms. The first time she woke, it was to the thick heat of him sliding inside her; the second time, she found herself alone, though the pale morning light told her it wasn’t yet time to go to the site—and Fox would’ve woken her for that anyway. Sitting up, she pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked around for a note. It was scrawled on a slip of hotel paper thrust under the radio alarm clock.
David fucked up. Gone to see what I can do.—Fox
David? The one the press called the Gentleman of Rock?
Frowning, she pushed off the comforter Fox must’ve covered her with before he left, his body heat more than sufficient to keep her warm when he was with her. She had to have slept through a phone call. Or Fox had already been up and grabbed it before it could wake her—her rock star, she’d learned, was a surprisingly early riser. Hoping David wasn’t in too much trouble, she showered and dressed for the day before calling Fox. It went straight to voice mail.
“It’s Molly,” she said. “Just wanted to say I hope it’s nothing serious. Talk to you when you get back.”
Since she didn’t know if Fox would return before she had to meet up with the crew, she decided to go down to the hotel’s breakfast buffet. “Mind if I join you?” she asked when she saw Maxwell sitting alone at a table in the relatively empty dining room.
“I never say no to a pretty girl.”
Smiling, Molly went to get a bowl of cereal and some toast. There was fresh coffee waiting for her at the table when she returned, as well as a glass of orange juice. “Seriously,” she said, “this is the life.”
“Not after you eat the same crap weeks in a row.” Maxwell’s heavy black eyebrows drew together in a scowl. “When we’re on tour, sometimes all I want is a bowl of grits or old-fashioned oatmeal.”
Molly hadn’t considered the situation from a long-term perspective, and as soon as she did, she saw his point. It was nice to be waited on and to have so many options at the buffet, but she’d be hankering for her own cereal within days, as well as her favorite brand of tea. “Do you carry things from home to make it easier?”
“Yep. What you’re drinking, it’s the best damn coffee in the universe—I had the hotel restaurant brew up a pot from my stash.” He took a sip, sighed. “Different folks bring different things, but most everyone has at least a couple of items.”
Molly tried to think of what it must be like to be on the road weeks or months at a time and couldn’t quite comprehend it. It made her understand some of the “diva” requests occasionally reported in the media—for what often seemed an odd thing about which to throw a star tantrum. Food, though, was only the tip of the iceberg.
“You must miss your family,” she said, having learned yesterday that the crew boss had a wife he adored as well as two teenage children.
“Yeah, it can be tough, but the boys pay me well enough that both my boys go to a fancy private school where they rub shoulders with the children of diplomats.” Pride in his smile. “At least my kids think my job is awesome since I can get them and their friends into concerts now and then, so I don’t have the hassle of having to deal with resentment. As for Kim and me, we have phone sex down to an art.”
Molly choked on her coffee, heard Maxwell laughing that deep, chesty laugh as she tried to catch her breath. She mimed scrubbing the image from her mind, which furthered the laughter on his end, then said, “Do you know what happened with David?”
Sudden remoteness, the smile wiped away as if it had never existed. “Figure you’d best ask Fox.”
Coloring, Molly looked down at her breakfast. “Sorry,” she said quietly after realizing what she’d done. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”
The friendly man sighed and reached out to pat her hand where it lay on the table. “No, I’m sorry for snapping at you—we’ve all been bitten so many times that we don’t trust anyone until they’re blood. Takes time to become blood.”
Molly met his gaze so he’d know there were no hard feelings. “I understand.” It wasn’t as if she was any different in the trust department.
Male voices sounded in the doorway a couple of seconds later, Fox walking in with David and a slender man she didn’t know. Spotting her and Maxwell, they headed over, grabbing food along the way. Fox put his plate down on her left, while David took her other side, and the unfamiliar man slid into the chair beside Maxwell. In a few minutes, the table was covered with more food than Molly could eat in a week.
“Don’t even ask,” David muttered when she glanced at his black eye, the bruise vivid against the golden brown of his skin.
Molly poured him coffee from the fresh carafe the waiter had just placed on the table. The drummer clearly needed it—it was obvious he’d spent the night in the long-sleeved, formal white shirt and black pants he wore, his jaw darkly stubbled. “Did you put ice on that eye?”
“That’s what I told him to do, but he’s too pigheaded.” The stranger stuck his hand across the table, his skin a warm, deep teak against the blue-gray of his suit. “Justin Chan, attorney for these idiots while they’re in the region.”
“Molly,” Fox growled, “stop looking at David like you want to give him a hug and smack him upside the head instead. If we were in New York, I’d call his mother and have her do it.”
“Don’t worry,” Justin said cheerily, “his folks will hear about it soon enough, and then he’ll have to explain if this is the kind of example he intends to set for his brothers.” A glance at David. “Wouldn’t want to be you, dude.”
“Oh, fuck.” David banged his head against the table. “I should’ve stayed in jail.”
Uh-oh. “Did you do something Thea’s going to have to wrangle?” Her sister had flown in late last night to be on hand for media interviews the band was doing today.
Lifting his head, David groaned. “Yes. Mary, Joseph, and the saints combined, yes.”
“She’s been working since genius here called me.” Fox bit into a piece of toast. “He was too chickenshit to call Thea himself.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Strong words, but the drummer’s tone was morose. “God, could I have screwed up any worse?”
Molly thought about it, then leaned in to whisper in David’s ear. “You might as well tell me your side of the story so I can spin it for you when Thea calms down.”
Shooting her a considering look out of a bloodshot and blackened eye, he slugged back his coffee and blew out a breath. “I decided to walk around the city last night. It’s something I do night before a concert.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “On the way back, I ducked into a bar to have a drink. It never crossed my mind that I’d be recognized. I’m the drummer—nobody ever pays attention to the fucking drummer.”
Fox snorted. “Bullshit. I’ve seen the stacks of fan mail.” Thigh pressing against Molly’s, he reached for the pats of butter beside her plate. “Mind?”
“Of course not.” Feeling playful and happy to see him, she closed her hand over the muscled strength of his thigh under the table, close to the zipper of his jeans.
It earned her a warning look that told her he’d get his revenge. Stomach tight, she stroked her hand lower down, leaving it there in an intimacy that coiled around her heart, and returned her attention to David. “So, someone recognized you?”
“Yep. The fuckwits decided they didn’t want a ‘pussy rock star’ in their fine establishment.” The insult was rife in his voice. “Like I was an airbrushed pop star, not a real goddamned musician.” Snarling at his toast, he bit off a hunk. “I had to defend my honor, didn’t I? Not my fucking fault the fucking bartender decided to call the cops just ’cause we broke a cheap-ass fucking table.”
Molly had never heard David swear before this morning, not even in interviews or going up against pushy paparazzi. “Hold on,” she said, wondering how much of that was leftover anger, and how much frustration at what this would do to his chances with Thea. “You were on your own, and you only came out with a black eye?”
David shrugged. “I was consistently the shortest guy in my grade until I hit seventeen. Shrimps get picked on—and my dad, he’s old school. Decided to teach me how to kick ass. No one ever picked on me a second time.”
His physicality something she would’ve never guessed at, Molly might have followed the conversational thread, but David fell to his breakfast with the concentration of a man who was done talking. She looked across the table to Justin. “Are you on call all the time?”
“That’s why I get paid the big bucks.” The lawyer’s teeth flashed bright. “Good thing David’s victims were too embarrassed to press charges—I mean, what hard man gets beat up by a pussy rock star?”
Giving him the finger, David stayed focused on his bacon and eggs.
Fox, his thigh continuing to press intimately against hers, jerked his head at Maxwell. “You feel good about tonight?”
“Setup’s tight,” the other man said, and the conversation drifted in another direction.
It was maybe ten minutes later, while Molly was having her second cup of coffee, that she ended up alone with David, the others having gone to pick up more food from the buffet. “You don’t seem like the kind of man who gets into bar fights.”
No response.
“You’re crazy in love with her, aren’t you?” she said softly, having grasped the depth of his feelings yesterday when he’d oh-so-casually asked her about Thea when they were backstage. The painful need in his eyes had resonated with the emotions growing inside her.
David paused with his fork against the plate, his eyes staring out into nothing. “Until I can’t think. I need to get over it.”
“Did you—”
“I asked her out. Had this whole argument worked out about how we’d be perfect together, but she never even gave me a shot.” Fingers turning white on the metal, he said, “She cut me off so smoothly it was like being sliced off at the knees. Professional smile, distant eyes, gentle hand on my arm as she ushered me out of her office.” He shook his head. “It was such a kick in the teeth that I just went.”
Thea, Molly thought, was a smart woman who’d grown up cherished by two people who loved her and each other. The man Thea’s mother had married when Thea was two had always treated Thea as his eldest daughter, “and no damn ‘step’ about it,” as Thea had once quoted, love bright in her expression. Her two “baby” sisters, fourteen and fifteen respectively, saw her as their big sister and that was that—complete with teary phone calls about boys and complaints about being grounded.
